| Faux Pas: a slip or blunder in etiquette, manners, or | | | | So for the sake of my own amusement, hopefully |
| conduct; an embarrassing social blunder or indiscretion. | | | | yours, and possibly a little healthy debate, I have |
| Last weekend I was at my beach house, away from | | | | decided to list my top ten social no no's. Keeping in |
| the rat-race and blissfully, in the middle of nowhere (I | | | | mind that what qualifies as a Faux Pas will vary from |
| love nowhere). Like many areas, it is an | | | | culture to culture (burping for example), I think the |
| internet-unfriendly zone. In order for me to get | | | | following might be universally cringe-worthy. |
| on-line and be able to write, I needed to drive for | | | | Number Ten |
| fifteen minutes, find reception and do some work in | | | | People who talk inappropriately loud for the situation |
| my car, while I listened to the surf. | | | | or environment they are in. Typically found in |
| So that's what I did last Sunday at 8am. | | | | restaurants, trains and hotel lobbys. Usually blokes. |
| I found a massive car park (maybe 400 spaces) | | | | Usually forty(ish). Usually have two mobile phones and |
| overlooking the water, with not a soul to be seen. | | | | often have their car keys clipped to their hip. |
| Solitude. | | | | Number Nine |
| Me, 399 empty spaces, four seagulls and some | | | | Close talkers (as featured in Seinfield). Also known as |
| waves. | | | | the space invader (see previous post). Insist on |
| I'm lovin' it. | | | | standing on top of you to chat. Always have bad |
| I hop in the passenger side so I can open my laptop | | | | breath. Always boring. Often have big foreheads. |
| without the encumbrance of the steering wheel and | | | | Number Eight |
| fire that bad boy up. | | | | People who laugh hysterically at their own jokes. The |
| Bliss. | | | | only people who don't know they're not funny, is |
| For a moment. | | | | them. Often have white stuff in the corner of their |
| I had been parked for a few minutes when a | | | | mouth. |
| fifty-something, with a cancer stick hanging out the | | | | Sad. |
| side of his gob pulls into the parking space next to | | | | Number Seven |
| me. There's 399 spaces to choose from and he not | | | | People who point out to tall people that they are tall. |
| only parks in the adjoining space, but he parks so | | | | "Thanks for the revelation, Sherlock." |
| close that I could reach out and touch (punch) him | | | | Number Six |
| through his open window. Just as his cigarette smoke | | | | The monobrow. |
| begins to violate my clean air, he opens his door. | | | | We all have to contend with genetics, but their ain't |
| Thank goodness. | | | | no justifying a six-inch eye brow. |
| He's going for a walk. | | | | One word; wax. |
| Nope, he's not getting out. | | | | Okay two; pain. |
| No, he 's actually leaning out of his car and spitting | | | | Number five |
| out a big, wad of white, phlegmy crap. | | | | Talking about people (who are in the room) as |
| But not before he clears his throat for twenty | | | | though they're not there. Usually done by stupid, |
| seconds, to make sure he doesn't leave any in there. | | | | insensitive parents, in front of their insecure, shy, |
| So glad I haven't had my porridge. | | | | teenage kid. |
| He slags, wipes his mouth, shuts the door and takes | | | | "No, Jason's not very good at sports, but he has a |
| another drag on the cancer stick. | | | | real flair with fabrics and pastry." |
| "Am I invisible", I ask myself. | | | | Number Four |
| I sit in my car revolted, amused and curious as to | | | | People who always bring every conversation and |
| why a person behaves this way, and obviously | | | | story back to themselves. They never actually listen |
| considers it okay to do so. | | | | to anyone else; they merely wait for an gap in the |
| What goes on in someone's head for them to be so | | | | conversation. They don't talk with people, they talk |
| socially unaware and inappropriate? | | | | at them. The very thing they want (to impress) is |
| What made him park his car one foot from mine? | | | | the opposite of what they achieve. |
| What made him think it was okay to blow smoke in | | | | Number Three |
| my window? | | | | People who are clearly not in need of a feed, jostling |
| What made him do the whole spitting thing? | | | | and elbowing for position at the buffet. Seemingly in |
| Anyway, he finished his little ritual, reclined his seat | | | | a frenzy to see exactly how much food can be |
| half way and then produced a newspaper from the | | | | squeezed onto one plate, and how many |
| passenger seat. | | | | re-appearances they can make at the trough, before |
| Fabulous. | | | | the food runs out. Invariably they will say something |
| He's staying. | | | | like: "wow, I was so hungry... I never eat like this." |
| I decided that I would exercise some focus and | | | | Sure. |
| concentration, do my work and ignore him. | | | | Number Two |
| This worked for a few minutes until he distracted me | | | | Asking the pregnant lady (who isn't actually pregnant) |
| out of the corner of my eye fossicking for snot. | | | | how long she has to go. |
| Now I know you probably think I have a propensity | | | | Oops. |
| to take poetic license but I am not fibbing; his index | | | | Number One |
| finger had all-but disappeared up his nose. | | | | Body Odour. |
| I actually laughed out loud. | | | | Why don't smelly people know they smell? |
| I finished my work and drove home wondering why | | | | Is it all odours they can't detect, or just the one's |
| some people are so socially inappropriate and so | | | | they produce? |
| seemingly, unaware. | | | | We've all worked, or gone to school with the really |
| Why does the fat bloke with the baggy, home-boy | | | | stinky guy who has absolutely no idea how pungent |
| jeans think the world actually wants to look at his | | | | he is. |
| horrible, hairy ass-crack? | | | | For most of us, the gigantic yellow armpit stains and |
| Has no-one told him? | | | | the flies would be a give-away, but not him. |
| Did his parents not share that life-lesson? | | | | |